the room

strings of attachments renewed
as vows of lies forever
the sirens call for sanity
but the undertakers are busy
and the flowers wither and are reborn,
dancing with destiny.
the lines crossed become part of what separate us
and the tingling of life
becomes muter by the word.

the words sparse as joys say nothing
and the music between spaces become communication tools
and the ceiling gets closer
and the windows look darker
and there is something else unspoken and misunderstood.

the cries elsewhere are now shades of horizon,
a soundtrack to our islands.